Childhood Blues
by Graystripe64
Summary: ParaNorman oneshot: Little 6 year-old Norman Babcock comes home from a rough day at school in tears, and it's his mother, Mrs. Babcock, who manages to comfort him just in time for dinner.


**PARANORMAN oneshot! God this movie was _SO_ awesome - totally fell completely in love with it after my 1st viewing! XD Hopefully, there will be more "ParaNorman" based fanfics from me in the future! **

**So this turned out to be a very simple, little story that I wrote in one afternoon. I just wanted to focus a bit on Norman and Mrs. Babcock's relationship. She's a pretty good mom and I respect that about her. ^^ Anyway, takes place in the past when Norman was just a little 6 year-old. Enjoy!**

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"Norman, honey, it's time for dinner!" announced Mrs. Babcock as she gently rapped on her 6 year-old son's bedroom door, careful not to crinkle his newly beloved zombie movie posters taped to the portal. She paused and heard nothing – no affirming shout that signaled he had heard her. She would have voluntarily stuck around longer lingering by his door waiting for him to answer her, but dinner was set at the table and if she didn't return to it quickly, she knew Perry surely would have sneakily picked at all the prepared entrees.

"Norman?" she stated again, with more of a questioning tone to it. Again, no response was heard. The blonde-haired woman then twisted the doorknob and pushed herself in. She was met with the boy's typical bedroom display: messed up bed, toys/action-figures splayed on the floor, as well as his 1st grade backpack simply tossed onto the carpet with notebook paper falling out of it. But her son was nowhere to be seen. Sandra grew slightly anxious by this. Norman usually spent most of his time in his room than just about any other place in their small house; that and the family room where he would secretly watch his favorite T.V. programs (usually involving the undead and other macabre themes).

Third time was the charm, she decided, "Norman, you in here, sweetie?" And just as she finished her sentence, Mrs. Babcock heard a faint, almost undetectable whimper come from within the room. She scrunched her brows in concentration. The childlike sound was almost muffled, as if not within clear earshot. It sounded again, this time accompanied by a sniffle or two. Her head cocked towards the bedroom closet on her left once her ears perked at another similar sound. Becoming more concerned, she determinedly entered the child's room and walked to the closet door. Advancing closer to it, the stifled snivels became more audible. It was then that she had no doubt in her mind as to who was making them. Her heart swelling with maternal concern, Sandra pressed the side of her face to the door and calmly said, "Norman? It's me, Mom. Did you hear me? I said it's time for dinner."

"I-I don't wanna come down. I'm not hungry," came the response, voice dripping with childlike stubbornness.

Still she pressed on, "Is everything alright? Why are you in your closet?"

Another sniffle (and she assumed a wipe of his nose on his sleeve), "I don't wanna talk about it. Just go…please."

"Oh, please, honey, tell me what's wrong," Mrs. Babcock soothed then challenged, "I'm afraid I can't leave until you tell me."

And that was when her young son stopped responding. He was apparently very fervent about not explaining to his mother his troubles. How mature he was for only a little 6 year-old. But Norman had always been a rather earnest child. At times, this worried the mother, but he rarely showed any sign of concerning development to his family. That is, not counting these almost unheard of moments of practically locking himself in his room.

Sandra allowed herself to pause a moment before speculating in still a very calm, nurturing voice, "Was it something that happened at school today?"

"…Ummm, hmm…" Norman grumbled from within his closed off sanctuary.

The woman sighed at the confirmation. She naturally assumed it was school-related. Why else would the boy come home straight from school and hide himself in his closet – literally taking _no_ time aside to acknowledge any of his family members (save for Grandma Babcock)?

There was another brief pause before Norman finally confessed, "Seth Partoni called me names."

"That classmate of yours? Why would he do that?" Sandra inquired, her heart practically blistering with empathy for her little son.

Another sniff, then, "B-Because I asked him if another kid could use the swing he was on. He took it up for almost all of recess."

"And…?"

"…H-He didn't see the other boy and told me I was making it up so _I_ could use the swing instead. But I _really_ just wanted to help the ghost boy get on the swing! I wasn't lying. Then Seth called me a 'ghost-talker-fart-knocker' then everyone else in class did too!"

Norman coughed as he let out another muffled sob. His mother simply squinted her eyes and brows out of concern for him. _"My poor, little boy…"_ she said inwardly. "Oh, Norman, I'm sorry. But it's okay, sweetie, everything's gonna be fine now. You'll see, that Partoni boy won't even remember it tomorrow!"

"No…but everyone _else_ will."

"Aww, you don't know that for sure. Tomorrow could be a big surprise!" His mother comforted to the best of her ability. "Now why don't you come down, eat a little something, and forget everything, huh?" No answer. But Sandra brightened as an idea hit her. "I made your favorite: spaghetti!"

Silence then a little muffled commotion from inside signaled that Norman was at least stirring within his closet. Mrs. Babcock smiled fondly when she both felt and heard her son twist open the doorknob to closet. She stepped aside to allow the door to swing open forward and was met with the small figure of the boy standing just within the doorframe, straight as a board, his head slightly hung and eyes downcast (but even she could see that the edges to his handsome blue eyes where just a tinge red from his crying). There wasn't a trace of a smile on his young face, but at least he had managed to confide in his mother and actually open the door at her subtle request.

She bent down to his level, trying to meet his purposefully averted gaze. "C'mon, let's forget about those kids and have dinner with the family. You know _we'd_ never call you names like that."

Norman bravely lifted his stare to his mother and let her friendly face wash over his despondent one. His round gaze was large and slightly hopeful. Mrs. Babcock merely grinned warmly at his little 6 year-old self. And for the moment, having a nice family dinner actually sounded like a really good idea to him.

He took a few paces forward and without warning to his mother, simply stepped into her form. His spiky brown hair brushed against her neck and under her chin. He pressed his face into her right shoulder and merely stood there, giving his best rendition of a comforting embrace. Sandra was shocked by the gesture, seeing as her son wasn't necessarily the affectionate type. He normally didn't like being coddled and hugged like Courtney had when she was his age, but it only made sense to her now, given the situation. Norman was still a little too shy or proud to request a sense of consolation from his mother, but this was as far as he would make the request known to her. She took care of the rest.

Mrs. Babcock gently wrapped the little boy into a light embrace, bringing him just a little closer into her arms. She simply held him for a while, not even needing to say much of anything to assure him that he was alright. "It's okay, Norman. I'm here for you, my brave, little man."

The child remained silent, simply further pressing his face into his mother's shoulder, trying to block the emotions from earlier. Eventually his stepped away from her and still stood staring at the ground. Sandra then lifted his face up to hers with a hand and was thrilled to see a tiny half-smile on his face. That gave her enough leeway to gently cup his head by his protruding ears and plant a couple kisses on his forehead and temple. He winced involuntarily but also couldn't help but accept the signs of affection. Sandra waited for the warning for her to stop smothering him and let him free, but it never came. This was one of the extremely rare times were little Norman both wanted and appreciated his mother's attention. Even the most mature and introverted of children like Norman wanted a little reassurance of security from their parents.

"Don't you worry. They can't be mean forever. One day it will all change – I'm sure of it," she encouraged before standing to her full height. The blond-haired woman then began ushering her son out of his room and into the hallway before the stairs by a hand to the back of his head. "Alright then, what do you say we go downstairs now, huh? Hopefully your father hasn't completely picked at _everything!_"

Norman followed in step with his mom and let out a little chuckle, knowing full well of his father's eating habits. And as they both descended the stairs and into the kitchen, he certainly hoped she was as right as she had been about other things that day.

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**THE END! I wish Norman was _my_ son. I swear, he's too perfect and I adore him above all other child cartoon-characters (aside from Coraline, o'course). Hopefully this tickled your fancy enough to leave behind a small comment/review(?)**


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